


Committed

by GioseleLouise



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Found Family, Harry Refuses to Take Kim and Jean Seriously, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:40:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26282065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GioseleLouise/pseuds/GioseleLouise
Summary: In hindsight, Harry should’ve figured it out a long time ago.
Relationships: Kim Kitsuragi/Jean Vicquemare, Platonic Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi/Jean Vicquemare
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	Committed

**Author's Note:**

> A more well adjusted, happier, healthier Harry in this fic. As always, he takes nothing seriously.

In hindsight, Harry should’ve figured it out a long time ago.

But in his defense, these types of things were hard to tell in their line of work. Life in the RCM blended boundaries - twelve hour shifts, close quarters, and a culture of aggressive fraternal camaraderie meant that people got _familiar._ No one bats an eye if officers hold hands to help each other on and off their horses. Or if rising tensions culminate in a shirtless shouting match in the locker rooms. Getting jostled and elbowed meant that people _liked you_ and everyone in the RCM accepted lack of boundaries as a fact of life.

And those two were so annoyingly discrete about it, too.

“Is this-” Harry snatches a blue folder off the organized lines of files crossing their desks. Opens it to see half-finished calculations, blank forms, and an incomplete listing of the task force’s assets. Harry groans. “Vic, I thought you took care of this.”

Jean looks up from a patrol schedule. Studies the back of the blue folder and frowns. “You and Kitsuragi were handling the budget,” he corrects.

Harry scratches his head; that doesn’t sound right. 

Judit is on vacation, which meant extra hours and extra work for the task force. The sky was still dark when Jean and Harry got to the Precinct, and they enjoyed the saddest sunrise of their lives as they organized the work to be done for the month. It’s way too early for higher brain function, but Harry could _swear_ he and Jean had a conversation about this file.

“No, you definitely said you were gonna take care of this,” Harry insists as a memory surfaces. Remembers because they did something _cool_ and _fun_ and didn’t even think to include Harry - he had to can-open it out of them the following day. “Yeah, you said you and Kim worked on this when he slept over last week. Thanks for the invite, by the way.”

Jean stills for a moment before slowly looking away, turning so Harry can’t see his face. “... _Right_. Right. We- Oh, hey, Kim.”

“Good morning, detectives.” Lieutenant Kitsuragi shoots them a weary smile from the entrance of the bullpen. His satchel weighs heavy on his shoulder, bursting with work, and he struggles to balance a steaming cup in each hand. “I’m sorry for not getting you one, Harry. I wasn’t expecting to see you until the afternoon.”

Harry waves it off. “Moved my session to the weekend cause of Jude.” He gestures to the budget propped on his desk - annoyingly unfinished, arrogantly blank in the face of all the work they have to get through - and sighs. “Wanna work on this?”

Kim’s not listening.

“Thanks,” Jean takes a cup from Kim’s outstretched hand and starts prying off the lid. “Is it…?”

“It’s tea,” Kim says softly. Sunlight filters through the Precinct’s patchwork of frosted and clear window panes and catches on his glasses. He seems, oddly, focused on Jean’s reaction. “I thought I would pick up some chai on my way to work.”

“I love chai.” Jean smiles, and that’s strange because Jean drinks sweetened coffee like he breathes air and Harry can’t remember the last time he saw his partner enjoying _tea_. “How much do I owe you?”

Kim shrugs, casual. “Don’t worry about it, lieutenant.”

That’s strange too. Kim constantly cautions Harry against wasting money in cafes and coffee stores. ‘Why pay for something you can make for free?’ He’d ask. Pragmatic as always, but Harry insisted that customers paid for the _ambiance_ of a cafe. Told Kim that the smell of roasted coffee beans against soft mood lighting and acoustic radio was relaxing and _romantic-_

“ _Oh my God_.” Harry gasps as comprehension dawns. He stares at them for a long moment. Watches Jean grimace between sips of Chai while Kim stares at his own small cup in distaste and it’s suddenly _so obvious_. “Are you two- you’re-”

Slowly, they turn to him; the dread on their faces confirms it.

“Don’t-” Jean starts.

But Harry leans in, giddy, biting his lip to stop from cackling with amusement. Or maybe it’s just delirium because it's so damn early. “ _T_ _his_ is happening _?_ _Seriously_? Oh God, why didn’t you- how long has this been going on?” Harry _tries_ to whisper. Tries to speak low enough that the night shift officers milling around them don’t hear, but it comes out like an energetic hiss. Judging by Jean’s wince, he agrees.

To his credit, Kim doesn't budge. Sips his chai tea and regards Harry with measured neutrality. “What are you talking about, detective?”

“I think you know _exactly_ what I’m talking about, Kim,” Harry challenges. “But if you don’t, I’m more than happy to remind you. Here. At work. Out. Loud.”

Harry can’t resist; he’s known Kim for half a year now and quickly learned how fun it is to poke at Kim’s propriety. Plus, Harry is practically buzzing out of his skin from excitement because of this Jean and Kim _thing_.

Kim takes another long, slow sip of chai. Sunlight catches on his stoic features, and it’s ridiculously cinematic how composed he looks in the light. Cinematic, and completely intentional, Harry thinks. It’ll be fun to mess with him.

“I’ll do it, Kim. I swear to God, I’ll do it right now.”

Kim glances at Jean, then shoots Harry a smug look from the rim of his cup. “Go ahead and enlighten me, detective.”

It's a front - Jean would throw Harry off the roof if he called out their _relationship_ in the middle of the goddamn bullpen. Apparently, Kim’s solution to Harry’s bluff is to raise his own. 

Looks like he’s learned too.

Harry narrows his eyes, tries a different approach. "Don’t you think you’re aiming a bit young, Kim?” Harry whispers.

Kim cocks his head and there’s gleam in his eyes that’s all cool victory. “I’m sorry, _how_ old was your ex-fiancée when you started dating?”

Jean snorts while Harry tries very hard to keep from reeling.

_Damn._

Harry squints; he stares at Kim for a long, tense moment. Neither man looks away, neither blinks, and Harry gleefully recognizes a stare-off. Despite the sting in his eyes, it’s nice to see this side of Kim. Nice to experience his burns and his childishness and his absurd sense of competition instead of his façade of detached professionalism.

Overhead, the ceiling fans creak and spin in the stillness of the early morning. A disheveled patrol officer from the night shift marches up to them with paperwork in hand, takes in the stare-off, and pivots.

Jean sighs.

“ _F_ _ine_.” He cuts in, impatient. Meets Harry’s grin with a long-suffering look. “ _Yes_ , Harry. We know what you’re talking about. But we are _not_ discussing it here.” Jean turns to Kim, apologetic. “He won’t give up. And we have...” he gestures to the paperwork on his desk, brilliantly illuminated by sunlight like the world’s worst prize pile.

Harry sneaks in a wink as Kim looks away. Pretends he got the last word in as Jean corrals Kim onto the boring _high road._

“I’m sorry, that was...you’re right.” Kim’s eyes dart over the files. Slowly, his lips press into a thin line, and something in his gaze twists. His hope dying, maybe. There are a dozen cases under the task force and nearly all of them are as tough as the next. “Give me whatever you don’t want, lieutenant.”

A nearly imperceptible pause, then Jean extracts a stack of folders from the pile. “Take the Fabron case.”

“Really?” Kim clicks his tongue impatiently. “Your first instinct is to give me the easiest case? Be professional.”

Harry can’t help it, he snorts, because his friends are _together_ and they’re being fucking losers about it. “I’ll take the case,” Harry volunteers.

Jean rolls his eyes. “Of course you will.”

“Your partner wants the Fabron case, lieutenant,” Kim says smugly. “Seems like it’s all yours.”

“Take it,” Jean insists, holding up the file. “It’s payback for the tea - an easy case before a rough month.”

Kim crosses his arms, “Do-”

“Oh my God, I am going to throw up,” Harry announces. He rubs sleep out of an eye, impatient. This is starting to lose its novelty; doesn’t help that _he_ doesn’t have a caffeinated beverage. “You two are being gross. Vic, you don’t even like chai tea, so there’s nothing to ‘payback’. Come on, man, let’s just take the damn case.”

For a moment, Kim and Jean stare at Harry.

“...You didn’t have to pretend to like chai,” Kim says quietly, brows knitting. Harry bites his cheek. Guilt churns in his gut, and he knows Jean is going to absolutely _murder_ him if he doesn’t fix this.

“But, _Kim_ ,” Harry wracks his brain for a solution. Keeps his eyes on Kim though he _feels_ Jean glaring a hole through his skull. “...I think Vic was being thoughtful - and you hate wasting money at cafes. You both just wanted-” _to make each other happy_. Harry suddenly remembers where he is and lowers his voice, chooses his words, “...You were both just being...polite.”

Jean and Kim share a glance and something passes between them. Harry feels tension unspooling, some equilibrium being reached, and tries not to roll his eyes. _Of course_ they’re not using their words. Jean is too private at work and Kim is... _Kim_. He waits until they’re both smiling, looking away, and seeking to push past the moment. Harry pauses another few seconds just to be sure and gestures to the cup.

“Vic, if you’re not going to finish your tea, I’ll take it,” Harry offers, cheerful; as if nothing had happened at all. It’s the best approach with these two. “I really like chai.”

\-----

“I can ask _anything_? Are you sure?”

“Yes, just-” The Kineema roars to life around them - engine screaming and the vibration rattling his bones - and Harry will _never_ get used to this. He hates, intrinsically, the jarring snap from complete silence to mechanized discordance no matter how many times he rides or drives an MC. Jean massages his temple, blinks through the first few seconds of painful adjustment, and raises his voice, “ _-After_ dinner, Harry.”

There’s no leeway in that tone. Harry can see from the set of Jean’s shoulders and the way he sighs against the Kineema’s window that his partner wants nothing more than to relax in silence after their grueling fourteen-hour shift. Still, Harry can’t help but roll his eyes. Just a little.

It’s always hard to keep from teasing Jean about his _aesthetic_.

This whole ‘brooding exhausted do-gooder watching the city-scape pass by’ thing is so dramatically _Jean_. The dweeb knows he looks cool doing it - all dark hair, thoughtful grey eyes, and occasionally, a cigarette tucked between his lips - and he’s perfect against a backdrop of flickering street lights. He’s just missing noir music. Also some rain.

Harry wonders if that’s how he and Kim started dating: sharing tips on how not to suffocate under the weight of their pretentiousness. He loves both of them dearly, but _God_ , the last time he took himself half as seriously was when he deluded himself into thinking he was a goddamn superstar.

From the front seat, Kim makes final adjustments and grins at them through the rear-view mirror. He’s in his element, relishing the smell of burning diesel, the oscillating heartbeat of the engine, and the response of the controls as he pulls out into the road. For Harry, the experience becomes bearable in open space; racket from the MC’s engine no longer rebounds off the garage walls and he can finally hear himself _think_.

Jean said Harry can ask anything after dinner. Which is good, because he’s been wondering about _t_ _hem_ all day. Even now, with just Harry in the MC, they’re respectful. Both reserved and lost in thought after a long day of work - no chemistry beyond the friendship that sits between the three of them. For the eighth time today, he wonders how long they’ve been dating. Or just having fun. Or whatever it is they’re doing.

 _After dinner,_ Harry reminds himself. But it’s impossible to keep his thoughts from spinning without work distracting him or noise from the Kineema breaking his train of thought. His mind parses through every event they’ve gone to, every time they’ve insisted on doing something without Harry’s company, every instance they stood a little closer than they should, and Harry can’t help but wonder _..._

 _Stop it,_ he tells himself. _We are gonna relax, enjoy some kebab, and then have a nice conversation about_ this.

He is _not_ going to dwell on the logistics of two RCM officers in a relationship. The late nights, and hours required, and how people _definitely_ fuck in the Conference Rooms in Wing A. And he is absolutely _not_ going to make assumptions about how this started - whether it was a fit of passion or something slow and sweet.

It was probably something ridiculous.

Maybe they ran into each other on the balcony after a late shift. Harry imagines them sharing a cigarette, their thoughts tangled in work. Perhaps they watched the city crawl under them, silent, leaning over the railing like fucking gargoyles, before connecting over _theatrics_ . _“You would look 20% cooler if you pushed your hair back as you exhale.”_

Harry bites his lip and tries not to laugh. _Patience_ , he thinks. 

_After dinner._

He makes it another five minutes before words fly off his tongue.

“Have you guys decided who tops?”

The MC lurches violently. “ _Detective_ ,” Kim exclaims. “Why-Oh my God-”

“What?” Harry asks. “It’s a normal question. If anyone else knew, they would wonder too.”

Jean’s expression is inscrutable. It reminds Harry of the time he told Jean that he worked in ‘Precinct 69.’ Or the time he told Jean he was a male nurse. Or when he showed Jean the vibrant Party Dragon’s Robe he pilfered from a college student. Or-

Harry used to get this look a lot.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You _had_ to have known that was wrong,” says Jean.

Harry shrugs, unabashed. “Honestly, I’m doing both of you a huge favor. My brain will keep making assumptions until you guys spill the beans. This,” Harry draws a circle with his pointer finger. “Is one day away from being a full on ‘thought project’.”

Kim and Jean groan.

“I thought you were done with these ‘thought projects’ after-”

“God, you are such a perv. You do this _every time_ I da-”

"I'm going to deduce the answer," Harry interjects. He ignores Jean’s bristling and Kim's reflection glaring from the rear-view mirror because if Harry stopped himself everytime they disapproved, he’d never get anything done _._ "Tell me if I'm right. Actually, you won’t have to, I’ll see it from your reactions. I think it's-"

" _No_ ," they say in unison.

"Oh? So you guys...switch?" Harry smirks, scans for a reaction, but Kim is pointedly focusing on the road, and Jean is back to that blank expression.

"No." Jean frowns. “Drop the look, Harry. I meant ‘ _No’_ as in: stop talking about-”

" _Liar_." Harry cards a hand through Jean's hair to mess it up. Extremely juvenile, but it's Vic, so whatever. "You have a tell, man."

Jean catches his wrist. "I _don't_ have a tell. And I know you, Harry - you're still fishing. Don't say anything, Kim!"

“But my therapist said it's important to be transparent about intimacy," says Harry innocently.

Jean doesn't bother rolling his eyes, his expression speaks for him. "I didn't realize _we_ were in a relationship."

“I think it's a fair assumption," says Harry cheerfully before shaking his wrist. "Since you insist on holding my hand. Pretty forward, Vic. I don’t mind, but maybe you should buy me dinner first."

Jean scoffs. "You should be so lucky." But he doesn't let go, and while most of it is to spite Harry, part of it is because they both know Harry is totally going to fuck with his hair. Again. “I'm not paying for your kebab."

From the front seat of the MC, Kim sighs and turns on the radio. Speedfreaks FM kicks up, the music washing over the sound of their bickering. Kim catches Harry’s eye in the rear-view mirror and Harry suspects that the offer to ask about their relationship, let alone ‘ _anything’_ , has been taken off the table.

Well, good thing he’s the goddamn Human Can Opener. He'll figure it out eventually. Harry has a good feeling things aren’t changing anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Feedback is always appreciated :) As always, hugs and thanks to my darling beta, Didi <3
> 
> Come say hi @ giosele.tumblr.com


End file.
